Reading in the Wood
by Joshua Christian
Summary: It all started with a woman, a warrior, and the written word in the Wood.
1. Chapter 1

The woman gazed upon the glorious forest before her in wonder.

Her new husband's people insisted that the woods were not safe, that an elf witch resided within; however, the young woman found it difficult to believe that something so lovely could contain evil. Besides, as tempting as it might be, she had no intention of going any further than the forest's outer fringes.

So, this decided, she plopped down beneath an old oak not a hundred yards in, and began to read a book. The sun perused her form as if curious to see a mortal within the Golden Wood. All the while, another watched as well.

His eyes scanned over her form and studied her demeanor, looking for any indication of malicious intent. He saw none. His expression turned to one of curiosity. _What is she doing here?_ He wondered. He had not seen any of the villagers approach the Wood in centuries, content with their tales of witches and evil elves. Yet, there she was beneath the oak. He wondered about her name and from where she hailed, for he was certain she could not have been born within the village. He thought of approaching her, but dismissed the idea, afraid he might startle her into never returning; though this approach was usually the practice of the border patrol, he loathed doing so with her. She was barely more than a child. Instead, he made himself comfortable within his tree and continued watching her, enjoying the myriadflow of emotionsplaying across her face as she read. It was obvious she was enjoying her book. Suddenly, her head whipped around and she was staring hard at his tree. He froze. _Had he laughed aloud?_


	2. Chapter 2

She had been completely lost within the familiar pages of one of the few books she had brought with her to her new home. She had read it many times, but that changed nothing. Her heart still raced as the brave hero fought the fierce storm on a sea that she had never seen except in her imagination. Her eyes were wide with anticipated doom, when she heard it-a laugh. That was not part of the story.

She was quickly drawn back to thewood bathed in gold around her. She looked up in the direction she was sure it had originated, but saw nothing. The laugh had been pleasant to the point of being lyrical; however, she still found herself wondering if perhaps her new neighbors had spoken the truth. _You are safe in my Wood. No harm will befall you. My warden is merely curious of you, child. _

The woman was startled and was about to question the speaker aloud when she realized that the voice was unspoken. Fear seized her.

_Do not be afraid, little one. You are most welcome, and Rumil will let nothing trouble you during your visits here…_

_Everyone needs a place of refuge…_

_That is what you seek…_

_You are invited to make this spot your own. It is gift. My warden will watch over you whenever you visit._

The woman found herself wondering to whom the voice belonged when it spoke once more. _I am the Lady of the Wood. Again, welcome to my home…_

So, there was a witch? Or could it be merely superstition that had made her so? The woman's curiosity was peaked. She could not leave never to return. She was drawn to the unknown, drawn to this Wood and its occupants. Deep down, she acknowledged the truth. She had entered hoping to make contact with the elves. The young mortal lifted her book once more, all the while sending a silent thank you to the Lady.

She tossed a covert glance at the tree across from her throughdark lashes. A trace of a smile appeared and a spark of mischiefignited inher eyes. She then lowered her gaze demurely to the book's contents as she spoke, "Would you care for me to read aloud to you, Rumil, or are you content to simply watch me enjoy it in silence?" At the mention of the name given by the Lady, the woman was rewarded with a soft gasp of surprise.

"I feared that I would frighten you, my lady," replied the tree beneath her scrutiny.

A single, arched brow was raised, as she questioned, "Oh? You must be quite hideous indeed, my lord."

She was again gifted with his laughter."My brothers _**have**_ informed me that I have a face that few could love!" replied a lilting voice laced with blatant amusement.

"A pity," she countered, "for I had hoped you might sit with me."

"And so I shall, my lady, if you but grant me the comfort of remaining in my tree."

The woman was slightly disappointed that he would not come out, and wondered again if her sojourn into the Wood had been at all wise or simply foolish fancy.

As if sensing her doubts, the voice within the tree spoke once more, "You will need time to accustom yourself to my presence, believe me. I may startle you otherwise, and I have no wish to cause you discomfort, child." The amusement was gone from his voice, leaving gentle concern in its wake.

Her heart softened, "Permission granted, then, but only for a time."

"The lady is indeed gracious." His voice spoke of the smile that graced his face.

"Shall I read?" she questioned.

"Indeed, if you please," was his reply. And so they began.


	3. Chapter 3

I do not claim Rumil's character. He is on loan from Tolkien.

The woman now came often to the wood, always ready to read to her mysterious friend. She had quickly read through the novel from before and began on a book of poetry. She soon found that her friend did not care for all of the poet's sentiments.

"He is mournful to the point of being morbid. A writer should inspire their readers to hope-to dare to believe nothing is impossible. Instead, your poet would convince us that all is despair, and that surrender to the inevitable is the only option."

The woman looked toward Rumil's tree, as she termed it, when she spoke, "I take that as, no, you do not wish to continue?"

"No. Your poet has no fight in him. He has no…" his voice trailed off as he attempted to find the word.

"Spunk?" she supplied.

"Indeed not." He quipped. "Perhaps another writer should be sought."

The woman smiled sadly up at her guardian. "I am afraid this is truly the last book I have. I could only bring two from my home when I married." She explained, by way of apology.

"Hmm. Wait here."

The woman thought she saw a flash of pale gold immediately following his directive, but was not certain. He was gone for sometime when a book suddenly fell gently into her lap. Startled, the woman quickly glanced up. Her eyes briefly met a pair of startling blue ones, at least, she thought so, but they were gone.

Rumil spoke to her from his tree once more, "I believe you will enjoy that book. It is tales of my people from long ago: battles, stories of love, and heroes triumphing against impossible odds."

"Sounds as if you have already read it, Rumil." She ventured.

"I have, but you, Lana, have not."

She blushed ever so gently on hearing her name spoken by him. It sounded musical, noble even, instead of common as it truly was. She was immensely glad that she was saved from the title 'Lady' added to it. It had taken a great deal of convincing on her part, but she had finally managed to convey that no disrespect would be shown if he simply called her Lana. For if he could cause it to sound noble when spoken informally, she felt downright royal with the title of 'Lady'. She did not want or need formality. She had that aplenty in her new home. Here, she just wanted a friend.

"Have I lost you, Lana? Or are you trying to see through my tree?" asked a teasing voice from above.

Lana snapped back to the clearing and her present company. "Forgive me, Rumil, my mind was wandering."

"Again," supplied the elf helpfully.

The woman cast a narrowed gaze to his tree once more before opening the book. The pages appeared new and freshly printed, though Rumil had assured her he had read it. "The pages appear untouched by all but the scribe who penned it."

"It is."

The woman glanced up, startled, "But you said…"

"I said the stories were known to me, but the book was in my own tongue. I translated it in westron so as to hear you read it. The book is yours."

"Oh, Rumil, thank you, I…" The woman was once again interrupted as another voice entered the Wood.

"LANA! COME WIFE! WHERE ARE YOU!"

"It is Haman, my husband. I must go to him, for he will not come to me. He fears this Wood. I shall try to return soon so that we may begin our new venture, my friend."

"Mellon nin."

"I'm sorry?"

"It is how one would say 'my friend' in my tongue."

"Mel-lon neen," the woman mimicked. "Thank you, Mellon nin."

With that, the woman was gone. A sudden feeling of concern washed over him. He had felt her sadness, and the loneliness she carried with it before, though she fought to hide it beneath her playful banter. Now, it was stronger, and a sense of foreboding gripped him. He recognized the feeling for what it was. Fear.


	4. Chapter 4

Rumil made his way back to Lana's Clearing with an eagerness he had not felt in centuries. If someone had told him that he would find such blatant enjoyment in a mortal's company before making Lana's acquaintance, he would have laughed. He was hoping she would be there today to greet him with her smile. She had not been back in three days, and the foreboding that had taken hold of him at their parting returned. _What if all is not well?_ He shook the thought aside as he glided gracefully through the trees. He was nearly there when he heard her sobs. He increased his pace so that he was no more than a passing blur through the branches of the Wood.

He arrived, and soon aftercaught sight of the crumpled form at the foot of the young oak (at least to him) where he had first seen her. All caution aside, Rumil dropped soundlessly to the ground and made his way to her side. She was not aware of his approach and was completely caught off guard as she was gathered into a pair of strong arms. As her head was pressed to a solid chest, she tensed, only to fall limp when the words, "All is well. I am here," washed over her. Rumil. She clung to him, burying her face into his neck as she continued in her misery. "What has happened, little one, that has broken your heart? Tell me, that I might aide you."

The young woman pulled out of his embrace, somewhat, in order to meet his eyes. And so it was that Lana of Gondor, now of Rohan, first laid eyes upon her mysterious friend. Her face must have shown her awe and surprise, for she saw a look of discomfortin his vivid blue eyes, and fear. It was then that she understood why he had withheld his face from her and she was thankful. If she had seen him before she had known him, then his perfect, glowing face would have unnerved her. She would have missed his beauty, all the while thinking she had found it.

Her current woes were temporarily forgotten as she bent her mind to reassuring her friend. She flashed him a brilliant smile, as she quipped, "Your brothers lied to you, Rumil. You are not quite THAT hideous." She watched in delight as he threw his head back and laughed in relief, a truly marvelous sight.

"I thank you most sincerely for your kind words of comfort, my lady." He grinned downwhenshe let out anunladylike snort at his use of the title. He drew her back against his chest as he released a soft sigh of relief. He had feared their new friendship would forever be marred when he saw the idolizing gaze that had adorned her face for a moment. Then, in typical Lana fashion, she had dispelled his fears with a glib remark that told him plainly that he was still her friend, Rumil, not some divine creature for whom utter worship was required. It had been his fear in the beginning, when he had first thought to befriend the child. He had seen firsthand, and too often, the longing that mortals often displayed when they first laid eyes upon one of the Eldar, and the inadequacy they often felt in the presence of elves. Not his Lana. "Now that we have discussed my hideousness, perhaps you can enlighten me as to the cause of your grief."

He released her as she made to sit back in order to face him. Her smile was greatly diminished when their eyes met. She seemed to be struggling with her thoughts, attempting to find the words to speak. He reached out, taking her hand in his and gently squeezed it.

Lana glanced down at the long, graceful fingers that were entwined with her own. The hand of a friend and oh, how she needed one. She felt fresh tears burning behind her eyelids. She tried to quell them so as not to distress her friend further, but failed. A tear spilled from the corner of an eye as she made her confession. "The Rohirrim village where I now dwell does not welcome me." She felt Rumil's other hand upon her cheek as his thumb brushed away the tear. Her face crumbled, and she crashed against his chest as she continued. "I have tried. I have been kind. I have offered to help where needed. I have patiently ignored the veiled insults made against me, all because I have failed to be born Rohirrim!" It was then that she realized she was to the point of hysteria. She had held in her hurt, her grief for so long that it seemed now that it would consume her; however, her heart began to feel cleansed as Rumil began to sing softly in his own tongue. Her heavy sobs were reduced to quiet hiccups, and soon she slept.


	5. Chapter 5

**First, I would like to take the time to thank everyone for their wonderful reviews and to apologize for the excessive amount of time I have taken to update. As per the request of a loyal supporter(s), I have added more physical description of the elf (just enough to tease the ladies out there). **

**Elves, do to their difference from mortals, no doubt see us differently. Therefore, the descriptions of Lana will be decidedly more spiritual, as well as some physical traits. Have patience while I attempt to find the balance.**

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**AGAIN (and it is a shame really) LOTR is in no way mine and I (again what a shame) in no way profit from the use of the characters.**

Lana was startled awake, by what, she knew not; however, she found her current position of greater importance. She knew she should pull away, but instead, found herself fascinated with the contrast of her dark strands mingled with his golden ones as their hair lay across the portion of his chest not engulfed by her presence. She found herself reaching up to twirl a lock of gold between her index and thumb as she contemplated her situation. It was late. She saw through the boughs above that the sun was nearly set. She had been there all day. She was not sure how she would tell her husband, but she knew she owed him the truth. He had, after all, stood by her even against his own kin; though it had caused some strain between them in their marriage, she had no wish to add more. She had kept Rumil a secret long enough, and secrets could haunt. "This one already is."

"Of what do you speak?"

Startled, Lana looked up to see Rumil awake and watching her. His blue eyes seemed alight with a million stars. They spoke of ages long past and others yet to come. "How old are you, Rumil?" She watched those glorious eyes twinkle, and a beautiful smile grace his lovely face.

"Changing the subject, Mellon nin?"

"No, just curious."

She watched the elf sigh as he glanced up to the massive branches of the oak above. "Do you see this aged oak?" At her nod, he reached back and laid a palm against its bark, remaining silent for a time as if communing with it. "I was a warrior tried and true long before it ever took root."

"Were you there in the beginning? Did you ever see Gondolin as it is mentioned in your stories?" Upon seeing the elf's arched brow, she continued, "I had to peek! The book was much too tempting!" she exclaimed by way of explanation. "Did you fight beside Isildur and Elendil?"

The elf held up a hand to stem the flow of questions so that he might speak. "No to all. I was born after the creation of the elves. I never had opportunity to travel to Gondolin, though I knew many of whom called it home. I did not fight beside the Gondorianssince my battalion was stationed further down field from their own…"

"…but you were there!" quipped the woman. "What was it like?"

As she gazed expectantly to the elf, he turned his visage back to her. She was startled by the change. The laughter was gone and the lights in his eyes had dimmed. She saw sorrow that ran deep; deeper than she felt she could ever fathom.

"I saw brethren, whom I had known for ages of men, fall by the wayside. They had been struck down and left to face death, something they were never meant to see. I saw men that were barely more than boys shivering in fear and rightly so, for many of them did not live to see the dawn." His gaze was intense as he continued, "War is at times a necessity, but it is never a thing of beauty; however, those who brave to fight are worthy of their peoples' honor. They should always be remembered."

She felt a desire to comfort him, to say or do something to ease his grief, but she knew not what to say. Instead, she laid a hand upon his cheek and a kiss upon his brow. Despite her wish to give him comfort, she found herself marveling at the texture of his skin, likening it to a rare silk she had once felt in the market of Gondor. The silk was coarse in comparison.

"It is night. Your husband will be worried, Mellon nin."

Stunned, she looked away from the elf to see that it was, indeed, night. Looking back, she realized what had caused her to miss the remainder of the day as it passed. He was glowing. An inner light, as mystifying as his ethereal face, poured from every pore, bathing the area around him. "Oh, Rumil."

The elf watched her, perplexed for a moment as to her thoughts, then smiled softly. 'It is the grace of the Eldar. Though it is always within my people, it is more visible beneath the starlit sky." With those words, he stood and reached to take her hand. "Come. I will escort you to our borders."

Hand in hand, the two walked through the darkening Wood.

Rumil glanced down at the mortal beside him, marveling at the bursts of light which radiated from her, though mortal eyes could see it not. Every emotion, every thought had its own pattern of light, even the passing of time was a lovely thing on this woman. But mortals rarely saw the blessedness of mortality.

He would have dwelt further on the thought; however, his senses informed him that they would soon have company. With his free hand, he flicked his hood over his head, dimming the shimmering glow of his Kind. He noticed the woman's eyes as they took in his actions.

Casting Lana a reassuring smile, he explained, "Someone is ahead. I sense no malice. Still, it is wise to exert caution." He saw her nod in agreement as he turned his thoughts once again upon the presence in the Wood.

Initially, he had thought it to be one of his own. However, he could now hear their progress through the underbrush, a feat impossible if it had been an elf, which meant it was a mortal. It was no Orc. There was no evil intent radiating from this presence, only a tinge of frustration, and fear. His elven eyes, even in the darkened Wood, were able to pick up the shadowy form of a man. The man was anxiously looking around, as if trying to locate something.

Rumil was almost certain as to the identity of this intruder. "I believe it may be your husband, Lana, and he is worried."

Rumil cast his eyes upon the woman at his side and saw her alight with guilt. He then felt himself being pulled to a halt and a small hand on the expanse of his chest. "Point me in the right direction, Mellon nin, and I will go to him. I do not wish him to learn of you in this manner." She whispered.

"He knows not of me then?"

"Nay, for I feared he would forbid my coming. He would assume that as an elf you would wish to harm me. This may be farewell." Lana looked into the eyes of the elf which, even in the shadow of his hood, were clearly visible. She saw sadness at her words, and, though she sorrowed at causing him grief, she rejoiced that someone other than her husband valued her company.

"Indeed, I hope that this is not farewell. I desire to share with you the stories within the pages of your new book, but should it be so, at least you have them as your own to enjoy."

"It would not be the same without you, Rumil." She watched a smile blossom across his features at her heartfelt words. "How do you say 'farewell' in elvish?"

"Namarie."

"Then, Namarie, Mellon nin. For now."

The elf placed a hand upon each side of the mortal's fair face, and, placing a kiss upon her brow, breathed out the painful word, "Namarie." The elf then turned the woman in the right direction, and with a little nudge, sent her on her way. From a distance, he watched to be sure she found her way to the man's side and that all was well between them; then, with a heavy heart, Rumil turned his eyes toward home.


End file.
